


Complex Desire

by GingerCat17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:40:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerCat17/pseuds/GingerCat17
Summary: Narcissa has always kept her desire caged as she was taught to do. One night she is no longer able to ignore it and sets out to explore her innermost longings. However, it takes an unexpected turn and ends up being more complex than she expected. Will she find what she desires?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely readers!   
> I'm about to take you on a emotional journey with my favourite haughty lady: Narcissa Malfoy. It's a journey with many ups and downs and a story that is extreamly dear to my heart.  
> This is already completely written so updates should be fairly regular as I only have some editing to do.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The room is pitch black and quiet except for the breathing from the person next to her. Night has long fallen and yet she lies awake. She tries to calm the thoughts in her mind. They are nothing new, but they have been getting louder and louder, screaming at her to wake up from the numbness she has been living with all her life. Thoughts fuel desire, driving her to the brink of insanity. The liquor she has had only intensifies the chaos in her head.

She is done.

Her feet touch the wooden floor as silently as possible as she goes to her cupboard and puts on a simple tight black dress and a coat over it. It is a lot more subtle than what she usually wears but she doesn’t have the time or the nerves to put on a fancy appearance right now. She apparates right out of the room and finds herself in one of the alleys that lead off from Diagon Alley. They’re small, dark and unnervingly quiet. They mean shady business. And while that's something she is used to, she feels nervous nevertheless. She checks her environment to make sure she is alone. For a moment she could swear she saw her mother in one of the windows, looking down on her with judging eyes, but there is no one.

There is no door on the building in front of her, but she knows where to go. She heads around to where the back entrance is. She has been here many times before with an internal struggle raging through her that she always lost. Today she walks through the door for the first time; it creaks when she opens it. Her heart is beating heavily in her chest but, of course, it does not show on her face.

“Which one?”, the matron asks without looking up from the newspaper she's reading.

“Your best” is her answer.

Now the matron looks up at her and astonishment flickers in her eyes for a second.

“No requirements? You don’t have a type?”, she smirks.

Of course she does, but she is certainly not about to bare her preferences here. She is baring enough as it is.

“Your best” she repeats with the tone and face of steel that never leaves room for questions.

“Room seven, third floor.”

She walks up the steps to the third floor. They, too, creak. With every step she takes her anxiety intensifies.

When she opens the door to room seven she is … disappointed. Everything is made out of shabby old wood, the bed is covered with simple white sheets, a single light bulb dangles from the ceiling. It is way below her standards but what is a girl to do in these desperate times of need.

“Don’t be shy” a feminine voice sounds.

She takes in the woman in front of her. Red hair like fire, blue eyes like the ocean, ruby lips like blood. She is gorgeous indeed.

For a moment she hesitates. She has absolutely no idea how this is supposed to go down, but then she steps further into the room and holds the envelope out. The woman takes it, checks the amount of money inside and places it on the bedside table. The redhead walks up behind her and starts to open her dress and her stomach turns.

„You will not touch me“, she interrupts the action. The first time a woman touches her should not happen like this.

The other tilts her head, a look of confusion and curiosity on her face.

“Understood?”, Narcisaa reinforces.

The woman shrugs. “Whatever you say goes.”

That is the type of answer she likes to hear. “Strip.”

The witch starts to take off the very few pieces of clothing she is wearing. Narcissa watches her like a hawk. How she slips her painted fingers underneath the straps of her bra to slide them down. How she bents her head forward just a bit to undo the hooks. How quickly her panties fall to the floor.

“Are you happy with what you see, Mrs. Malfoy?”, the redhead smirks.

She freezes at the use of her last name. She doesn’t like to be reminded of who she belongs to, most certainly not now.

“Turn around.” Her harsh tone makes the witch flinch. Good.

The woman does as she is told.

Narcissa approaches her slowly, her heart beat quickening. She almost flinches herself as her fingers find soft skin. How different it feels. She pushes the woman down to rest her hands on the window sill.  The fingers of her left hand scratch down the woman’s back while those of her right hand push inside already. The experience overwhelms her senses. She takes in _everything_. The warmth, the wetness, the clenching walls, every scent, every sound - until a gasp leaves her own lips as she feels the long forgotten fire in her core. When it’s over she wonders whether the witch has faked it. Probably. She becomes more frustrated by the minute and it shows.

The woman’s hand is on her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to…”

“No” she snaps and leaves the room without looking back.

Outside the cold wind hits her face. She leans against the wall of the shady establishment and clenches her hands. She is annoyed by what she has gotten herself into. Now she is standing outside of a brothel, flushed, drunk and horney. She walks out into the night, directionless. The streets are empty at this time as she wanders through them. Occasionally she stumbles. She barely drinks alcohol. At some point she falls. The cold snow against her hands and knees hurts, tickling a hurt much deeper inside her. Lips trembling, she tries her best to keep tears from falling, but every now and then, like tonight, even she fails.

“Mrs. Malfoy?”

Perfect. Someone would see her crawling on all fours in the dirty snow. Just what she needs. She looks up and sees the golden know-it-all.

“Are you alright? Can I help you?”

The amount of politeness disgusts her. They were on different sides of a war for Salazar's sake. How awfully kind can someone be?

“I’m _fine_.” She pushes herself back up, but her legs fail her and before she knows it she is being supported by two strong arms.  Her head is spinning out of control and she can’t help but to lean into the other body. The girl tightens her grip on her to keep her up. Her coat feels so soft and smells of her perfume. It is almost comforting to be held like this.

“I’m gonna bring you home, ok?”

She pushes herself away from the girl. She wants to be anywhere but home. _Home_. What even is that?

It is only a few meters until her legs fail her again.

The hands are on her once more, pulling her up again. She looks into the witch’s face for the first time. A face that holds knowledge far beyond the girl’s age, that seems to understand something although Narcissa hasn’t said anything.

“My place?”, the witch asks and she nods her agreement.

“I’m gonna apparate us. Hold on tight.”

She does. Within seconds Narcissa feels herself swirling until her feet hit the ground again.

“We’re there. You can let go now.”

Only she doesn’t. She tightens her grip. Her hands move across the girl’s back.

“Mrs. Malfoy. You’re drunk.”

She nods.

“You don’t want this.”

She laughs deep in her throat and moves to look the witch straight in the eyes. Her hand moves into her hair, grabs, holds the girl’s head in place. "You have no idea what I desire.” Her voice is low and husky. The witch mirrors her movements. Neither of them can move. It turns her on.

“Tell me what you desire, then.”

She ponders for a second. There’s so much she desires, but right in this moment …

“I want you to eat me out.”

The girls’s eyes grow wide.

Narcissa’s eyes close in embarrassment. Alcohol makes her painfully honest.

The hand in her hair loosens its tight grip. “You can sleep on the couch tonight” the girl says and then walks away to leave her there, even more embarrassed.

Sleep comes to her easily, though. She’s drunk enough. And tired; whether in a literal or metaphorical sense, she’s not sure. She wakes just at the break of dawn and slowly the events of last night come back to her. In a hurry she leaves the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

Narcissa walks into the noble restaurant as one of the waiters holds the door open for her. She has dined here many times. It is excellent, high class, but it has been starting to bore her. At the same time, she can barely stand to be at home, so she decided to come here. Unfortunately, she is not alone, but in the company of her husband. She had tried to make him stay at home, but in vain. How do you tell your husband that you would rather have lunch alone than with him? So here she is, enjoying some excellent lobster and conversing with her husband, although she has to concentrate to engage in the conversation. Her mind wanders off too often.

When she came home the other morning, she thought she wouldn’t be able to face him. She thought she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes without guilt choking her. As it turns out, she is much more of a Malfoy than she ever thought. She had no trouble facing him. Yes, she did feel guilty. Not towards him, though, but towards herself. Lucius was most likely completely oblivious to her inner struggle, but he had fallen out of love with her a long time ago anyway. At some point she had become too cold even for him, she figured. It is herself who she is really betraying.

“Darling?”

She snaps out of her trance. Staring into Lucius’ face she tries to catch up and figure out what he could have possibly asked, but she has no idea.

“Where are you today?”, he laughs.

“I’m sorry. It must be my migraine. What were you saying?” Excuses, she is so good at them.

“I was asking whether you wanted to go shopping afterwards. I know you already have several closets full of dresses, but maybe you would like something new?”

Fuck her dresses. She would trade them all for … but that’s impossible.

“Well, a lady can never have too many dresses, can she? That’s a lovely idea, Lucius.”

“I thought so. Let us go then.”

She is unpleasantly surprised. Why would he want to come with her? “You want to accompany me? You really don’t have to.”

“But I’d like to, honey.”

“Lucius, we both know you dislike shopping. It is very kind of you, but you would only be bored and I would feel pressured to finish up quickly.” Excuses, nothing but excuses.

“Well, if you say so. I’ll leave you to it then.”

They leave the restaurant and when they part he kisses her goodbye. Her lips remain unresponsive.

Thank Merlin he left her to go on her own. It is difficult for her to be around him. It’s not that she despises him, like she once used to. When she looks at him these days she just sees a stranger and it sends a shiver down her spine, making her painfully aware of her loneliness. She feels more estranged from her life than she ever has.

She walks past the high class stores in Diagon, eyes drifting over the clothing with boredom. In one of the shop windows she sees a reflection. Her breathing stops for a second at the sight of the witch. Hermione Granger. Memories of the other night flood her mind and with them they bring the familiar feeling of shame. A lady of her calibre should never ever have behaved liked that. In reality she wishes she would no longer care about these things, but the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black has left its imprint on her. She wants to leave, but it is too late. The witch has already seen her and approaches her.

“Good day, Mrs. Malfoy.”

She nods her greeting. She notices the tight black jeans the girl wears that end in black boots. On top she wears a dark green coat that is tight around her torso and becomes wide from her waist downwards. From underneath it, the collar of a white blouse sticks out. The unruly hair is tied back in a loose bun. Narcissa wonders when this girl became a woman.

“How are you?”, Hermione asks.

“I’m fine”, she says. _I can’t stand it. I’m fucking suffocating and no one notices. Notice. Notice me_ she wants to scream, but her upbringing doesn’t allow it. “I want to apologize for my behavior the other night”, she continues. She doesn’t mean it, but her upbringing requires it.

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s really not. It was unacceptable. What I said, well, I am sure you know I did not mean it.”

“Of course not. How could you?”, the woman asks rhetorically, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes that makes Narcissa feel uneasy.

“Did you find what you desire?”, Hermione asks. “Shopping here, I mean.”

Narcissa’s face falls for a second. Is she being mocked? “Obviously I did not”, she gestures with her empty hands.

“That’s a shame. It must be very _frustrating_ ”, she smirks.

The sheer audacity this witch has. Never ever has someone talked to a Malfoy like that. Narcissa fights to keep herself together.

“Perhaps I could assist you. I know a place where you’ll find what you are looking for”, the witch says and turns to walk away, leaving her standing there - again. After a few meters she turns around. “Are you coming or not?”

For a moment, Narcissa is glued to the spot, unsure whether she should really take this step, with _her_ of all people, but then she actually follows the witch. After all, she is a Slytherin and as such she cannot back down when an opportunity like this presents itself to her. It is almost too good to be true. She walks closely behind her through the crowded streets and around a corner into a deserted alley. Suddenly Hermione grabs her wrist and the world around her spins. When it stops her head hits something hard and she finds herself backed up against a door frame in a living room she remembers. Hermione’s hand wanders into her hair like it did the other night and the witch whispers close to her ear, “Remind me again what you desire.”

“I want you to …” she begins and closes her eyes. She is not nearly as vocal about her desires when she is sober. “I want”, she starts again, “your mouth on me.” It’s the most she can manage, but the witch won’t have it.

“Where?”, she wants to know.

Narcissa shakes her head and in response a hand snakes up her thigh, goes under her skirt until it finds her womanhood and cups it. She gasps.

“Here?”, the witch asks and traces the line of her jaw with her lips.

“Yes”, she breathes and feels the witch smile against her skin. The lips ghost over her neck ever so lightly. She starts to tremble. A hand strokes her ever so slowly over the fabric of her panties. It’s not long before she soaks through them. The witch doesn’t fail to point it out, holding her sticky fingers in front of her face.

“So quickly? And all for me?”

She turns her head as a hint of red creeps into her cheeks.

The witch chuckels.

She feels the fingers against her lips.

“Open.”

She obeys and sucks the fingers clean, tasting herself.

“Tell me how you taste.”

Narcissa wets her lips. “A bit salty.” Her voice is quavering.

“Salty? Really? You’re lucky I like it spicy then.”

The hand resumes its task and she can’t stand it.

“Please”, she begs as she has never done before, but it is being ignored.

“Open your blazer”, the witch orders.

“Hermione, please.”

“That’s Granger to you. Plus, patience is a virtue, Mrs. Malfoy. Now, do as I say.”

She does, knowing very well that the witch watches her every move, how she struggles with every button until they’re all undone.

“Take them out.”

She does. Under different circumstances she would be highly insulted, but she can’t think straight right now. Anticipation that accumulated over decades rises high and is about to break her. She would do almost anything so the witch does what she wants. At least she is rewarded for it as the witch takes her nipple in her mouth. “ _Merlin_ …” Her head bangs back against the frame. She pushes her chest further into the woman’s mouth and puts a firm grip on her hair because she’ll bloody murder her if she stops this. A couple of fingers hook behind the rim of her panties to pull them down. Hermione pushes up her skirt until she is exposed and

_Oh._

Within seconds the witch is between her legs with one of them draped over her shoulder. She shudders as the witch breathes against her sex. So this is it. The witch licks up the length of her sex, parting her and …

“ _Fuck_.”

… sucks her clit into her mouth.

“Another time maybe.”

“Keep at it, Granger.” She pushes the witch’s head close to her core, feels her laughing. It sends vibrations through her. A tongue proves its skill. Hips grind towards their goal, meeting every stroke. Her mind has long gone blank when her body shakes and her mouth screams pleasure.

When it’s over, she feels relieved in more than one sense. She feels complete. She feels the woman step away from her and she doesn’t want her to. She wants to be held. That’s something she had never wanted after sex, but this time she longs for it. She doesn’t say it, though. This is not the type of sex where you can ask for those things and suddenly she feels strange, out of place. She opens her eyes and sees Hermione with an outstretched arm, her panties and blazer dangling from it. She understands the gesture. She is not wanted here any longer. She puts on the blazer first and then her underwear, hating that the woman is staring her down while doing so. It makes her feel like some harlot who is being spat upon.


	3. Chapter 3

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

The sound rings in her ears, even though she presses her hands firmly to them.

“Narcissa!”

She lets herself fall into the bed and pulls the covers all the way up over her head in hope it will muffle the noise a bit. The lump in her throat gets bigger, soon the corner of her mouth trembles and when the first tear slides down her face she doesn’t try to stop it for once. She wouldn’t be able to count the times she has locked herself in here because she couldn’t keep it together anymore. She has been an emotional mess ever since that encounter with Granger. It did exactly what she thought it would do. It confirmed everything she had bottled up all her life, but it also touched her on a whole other level. Yes, she wanted the sex and _only_ the sex, because she had already dismissed anything more than that. That ship sailed a long time ago. And while it has been the best sex of her life, it left her craving for so much more, for a whole other life and now she doesn’t know how to return to her current one.

Tonight Lucius came onto her. He barely does so anymore, but she should have seen it coming when he persisted to accompany her for lunch, offered to take her shopping. He had been awfully nice and it should have tipped her off that he would expect something for it. It had never been enjoyable for her, but it’s a part of marriage. Close your eyes, hold your breath, get through it. Tonight, though, she couldn’t do it. So she settled for the lesser evil, gave him a blow job, spit into the toilet and barricaded herself in her bedroom. So that’s why Lucius has been banging on the door for about five minutes, now.

“Fine, suit yourself.”

His footsteps sound farther and farther away until she hears the door of their bedroom close. She pulls the covers away and takes a deep breath of the chilling air that’s penetrating through the open window. She goes over to the vanity. It’s still lying there. She twists the parchment in her fingers like she’s done a million times. It feels a bit rough and a bit soft as well, just like her. It reads

_Wednsdey, 10 p.m., Room 3, Leaky Cauldron._

_H.G._

To her it reads a challenge, a temptation. Carefully she puts the parchment under a pile of envelopes in the drawer and locks it. She goes back to bed with the intention to sleep things over when deep inside, she knows she already made up her mind.

...

The window is a bit dirty, but she can still see inside. She checks the tables. There is no familiar face, no one of importance. When she enters she is relieved to see that the Cauldron is indeed not as crowded as it usually is. It’s late on a day in the middle of the week after all. People should be at home with their families – and so should she. She bans that little voice in her head that keeps telling her she ought not to do this.

The bartender greets her, she barely acknowledges it and goes right up to room three. People don’t question what she does. It is one of the privileges of being a Malfoy. She pauses a moment in front of the door to room three. She is not sure what to expect given that their last encounter ended the way it did. The room is empty. It only intensifies her anxiety. Usually she is never the one to arrive first. She is afraid that, maybe, Hermione set her up and won’t come. Because, really, she has no idea why the witch wants to see her again, why she took her home in the first place. Her of all people. The woman whose son used to bully her during her school years. The woman who stood by as her own sister pinned her to the floor and tortured her. It makes no sense.

The room is almost as shabby as the one in the brothel the other night. She had hoped for a different set up, but it was to be expected. This is the Leaky Cauldron after all. She goes over to the window and looks down on the people walking by. She wonders what they are up. Solitude makes it easy for the voice to reenter.

_And what are you up to?_

_Disgrace._

_What a disgrace you have become._

She shudders, shakes her head a bit as if to shake her mother out of it, when she hears the door open. She barely manages to glance back over her shoulder before the witch orders, “Don’t turn around. Stay that way.” She thought Hermione’s attitude might be a bit friendlier tonight, but the tone in her voice is even colder.

The sound of heavy boots tells her she is approaching and, indeed, hands grab her waist, breath ghosts across her neck and her heart beats faster. How does this woman turn her into a puddle of desire without even really touching her? One hand moves to her breast and cups it strongly. Her instincts make her turn her head, trying to kiss the woman, but ...

“ _Don’t._ ”

The tone is harsh and she turns her head back towards the window. The temptation to look at the woman is strong. She wants to see her, wants her to look her in the eyes when she’ll come, but she obeys nevertheless because she fears that not doing so might make her leave. It’s something she can’t risk. The other hand moves under her dress, into her panties and ...

“Fuck.”

Two fingers are inside her mercilessly picking up a rapid pace.

“Open your eyes. Look at yourself”, the voice sounds low in her ear. “Watch me fuck you.”

She looks at their reflection in the window. The sight is enticing ideed. Hermione looks full of domination, determination; she herself looks full of surrender and pure lust with hair sticking to her forehead and eyes fluttering.

Fingers curl and ...

“No.”

... the woman presses the palm of her hand onto her clit.

“Hermione, please. I don’t wanna come yet, _please_.”

But pressure and pace only increase, forcing her to the peak.

“God, Hermione, _Hermione_ , Her ... Ugh.”

Legs shake, forcing her back into the woman behind her and she almost falls over backwards because the witch is already stepping away from her. It almost hurt when she withdrew her fingers so abruptly. And now she watches how the witch cleans her fingers off her, takes her purse and heads for the door, without saying a single word. She watches the scene with an estranged sense, as if it was a film, unable to believe that this is happening – again. She grabs the witch’s wrist.

“Stay.” It’s merely a whisper. There’s desperation in her voice.

“Why should I?” It’s a clear dismissal. There’s malice in the witch's voice and she actually does leave.

While earlier she wondered why Hermione wanted to see her again, she now wonders why she wanted to see the witch again. Hermione’s dominant nature had been unexpected, but welcomed. Now though, it leaves her feeling insecure. She had always been self-assured in her relationships with men. Partly because as the picture perfect pureblood daughter she had been taught exactly what to do and men tended to lie at her feet. And partly because, well, she couldn’t care less whether they actually liked her or not. But this, this is new territory for her. She isn’t sure what to do, how to act and my God, it matters that they like her. Why she chose Hermione, though, of all the witches that might have the same preferences, she doesn’t really know. Of course, the sex was amazing and she wanted to experience it again, but their last encounter left her with a weird feeling in her stomach that whispered that, maybe, there was more to it. Why did Hermione’s dismissal, albeit rude, affect her so much? It shouldn’t. She had imagined tonight a million times and in her fantasies it went down quite differently than it actually did. She imagined the two of them tangled in the soft sheets of a big bed in a beautiful hotel, or maybe even in Hermione’s bed. She had dreamt of foreplay, curious exploration and long, intense loving. She had fantasized about touching the witch and now she couldn’t even get her to stay with her for a bit afterwards.

She only waits a few more minutes before she leaves the room, too. She walks back downstairs and towards the door. Heads turn. She feels eyes on her. Some filled with shock, some with disgust, some with amusement. She realizes that they never casted a Muffliato.

That little bitch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the last installment of this part of their, well, relationship? And it only gets better in this chapter. Or worse, depending on how you look at it ;)

9 p.m. The Leaky Cauldron. Room 7.

Narcissa is exactly where she is supposed to be according to that piece of parchment that was delivered to her earlier. Only that it is twenty minutes past nine now and she is still alone. The last days have been a strain on her nerves. Every morning she dreaded the delivery of the Daily Prophet. She was afraid that someone might have talked, but thankfully she wasn’t the star of the gossip column. She wondered how much Hermione paid the people who were present in the Cauldron last week so they’d keep quiet. It probably won’t hurt her too much, though. She can only imagine the bags of gold the Golden Trio received from the Ministry after the war. Anyway, the first thing she did when she arrived here was to cast that damn Muffliato. She will not have the entire establishment hear her again. Then she flicked through the latest edition of the Prophet that was laying on the wooden table without really paying attention to its content. She doesn’t even know why she is still here. Before she can find an answer to that question, she is not sure she wants to find, the door flies open without someone having knocked. She doesn’t need to turn around to know that it is her. “You’re late. Why?” Her tone does not betray the disappointment that she is feeling.

“What makes you think you have the right to ask that? You are neither my girlfriend nor my _mother_.”

The remark towards her age leaves her speechless. It stings. She lets it slide though, because she is much too fascinated by what is happening in front of her eyes. Hermione has taken off her coat. Not only that, but now she is taking off her trousers as well. The woman has always remained fully clothed thus far. Narcissa relishes in the sight of slender yet muscular legs, wishing she would get to see more of that, but the witch nods her head towards her now. She unbuttons her blazer. Then, she pulls her blouse out of her skirt and, instead of pulling it over her head, she opens every single button. She wants to prolong this moment as long as possible. This is probably the longest they have ever spent in those meetings without, well, fucking. All the while she holds the woman’s gaze. Her blouse falls to the floor. She undoes the buttons at the back of her skirt and pushes it down over her hips. She leaves her lingerie on, noticed that the witch gets some sort of thrill out of taking her when she’s still somewhat dressed. The witch’s eyes cling to her body, wander from her breasts to her waist, over her hips as if she was in a trance. Her curves have rendered many helpless. She smirks.

Hermione’s expression gets stern again once she notices. She reaches into her bag, takes some sort of contraption out, that Narcissa has never seen before, and steps into at. At her confused look, Hermione says “It’s a strap-on, a muggle sex toy. It’s for …”

“I can imagine what it is for”, she interrupts now that the witch has tied the thing to her hips. The desire that rose in her just a few seconds ago mixes with doubt. This is not what she had in mind when she came here. “I had rather we not use it”, she says. “I don’t like it that way.”

“But I do”, Hermione says.

“And that is all that matters?”

The witch shrugs. “See you another time, then.”

Panic overcomes her as she watches the woman undo the straps again. And although every sane part that’s left of her tells her not to do this, she says “Fine. I guess there is no harm in trying.”

Hermione adjusts the straps again. “You won’t regret it”, she says.

Although the young witch’s confidence in her skill is admirable, Narcissa is not so sure about the statement.

“Get on the bed.”

Narcissa does and lays down on her back, anxiously anticipating what is about to happen. She gasps as black bonds snake around her wrists, cutting into her skin and pulling her arms above her head as they attach themselves to the headboard. She knew the witch was highly skilled, but wandless and wordless magic? She can count on one hand the witches and wizards who are capable of that. Hermione gets in between her legs, slides her panties to the side and, without much introduction, starts to give her head. Her tongue swirls over her clit like a whirlwind, almost too fast. She’s not complaining, though. She’s delightfully surprised that she gets some type of warm up at all. Her arms seize up, stretching the bonds to their limit. The first tell-tell sign. Hermione's hand snakes up her body to touch her lace-covered nippels. Interesting how she already knows that this move sends a sure jolt to her center. Lucius hasn’t figured it out till this very day. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Then again, Hermione doesn’t care either, does she? Her hips jerk upwards. “Merlin, yes. I’m gonna come, I’m gonna….” God damn it. That tongue is no longer on her. Instead Hermione turns her around, spreads her thighs even more and, surprisingly gently, slides the tip of the strap inside. Her eyes snap back over her shoulder. Did the witch just moan? She wonders …“Is it enchanted?”

“Of course it is”, Hermione smirks. “I’m a witch after all. Like it or not.”

_Oh_. That knowledge sends another jolt of arousal right through her. Before can she ponder much more on the whys and hows of this enchantment the witch starts pounding away at her. She clenches down hard.

“Christ, you’re tight”, Hermione gasps, leaning down flush against her body and grabbing her wrists with her hands.

Ah, so that’s what all the warm up was for. She can’t seem to relax her muscles, only allowing the witch to take her shallowly. Which does wonders for her, because the way Hermione hits her spot so precisely is about to make her loose her mind. No, this is nothing like sex with her husband. Speaking of which …

“Seems like Malfoy doesn’t hit it too much”, Hermione taunts.

“Shut up”, she growls. How dare she talk of him right now?

“I wonder what he would say if he could see his precious pureblood wife like this.”

“Shut up!”

“More like a pureblood bitch.”

Enough is enough. She bites into Hermione’s arm and it makes her cry out loud. But it also makes her bend her arm around her throat, forcing her head up, basically holding her in a headlock. The position is uncomfortable and yet she enjoys it. For how much they’ve been fucking, they’ve never been this close. She can smell her perfume, can feel the witch’s cheek against her own. She enjoys this closeness, enjoys the continuing onslaught on her g-spot that is turning into torture. She needs more. “Hermione, my clit.” She gets on her knees – fairly difficult in her position – lifts her hips to encourage the witch to finally touch her _there_ , but to no avail. The witch is lost in her own world, eyes tightly shut and suddenly …

“Ah!”

… she pushes past her resistance and is completely inside her. Pleasure mixes with pain. She holds on to the bonds. “ _No_ ”, she chokes. “I don’t like this. Please … please stop.” But the witch keeps thrusting deep, fast. Narcissa, too, shuts her eyes thightly, only for a different reason. This isn’t all enjoyable anymore. There are those few hard thrusts and the witch comes inside her.

The woman is gone as are the bonds, but she is unable to move still, frozen in time and place. She is not sure whether she just enjoyed this or not, but she knows that it makes her feel used, humiliated. _So_ humiliated. Slowly she turns onto her back, pulls her legs up, they ache. _Everything_ aches. Her hands move to cover her face because she can feel the tears coming. She growls, surpressing the bile in her throat. She will not cry in front of her. She will not. “Does it actually help?” she asks after a while.

“What are you talking about?”

“Degrading me. Does it help?” The lump in her throat grows, but she is so goddamn much in control that it is not noticeable in her voice.

“Does it help you to let out all of that anger?” Her voice grows stronger and she works herself back to her cold, controlling demeanour. She gets up, faces Hermione now, closes in on her, not giving a damn that she is still just in her underwear. It can’t make someone like her vulnerable. “Does it serve as a good revenge on my side? Does it make you feel that for once you are above us? That is why you’re doing this, is it not?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation as to why I’m doing this. There’s no big mystery to this. We _fuck_ , Narcissa. That’s all there is to it. If you can’t handle that, I suggest you leave.”

She does, because she really cannot handle this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, so who’s feeling sorry for Narcissa? I know I am. What am I putting her through? But you know what they say: sometimes things gotta get worse before they get better


	5. Chapter 5

_Sunday. Same time. Same place._

The parchment is not signed. It doesn’t need to be for her to know who it is from. She knows the handwriting by now. She twists it in her hands and looks at it from all angles as if looking at the issue at hand from all angles. The question that has been bothering her for days is whether she should come this time. A part of her tells her not to. She would only be hurting herself, emotionally and, given their last encounter, possibly also physically. Another part tells her that’s exactly why she has come over and over again. She needs the pain, needs to hurt herself in some way. Their little affair had taken a bad turn right from the beginning, but the last meeting left her shell-shocked. She got used to the idea that Hermione enjoyed teasing her, dominating her, but never had she imagined she would do something like that. _Something like that_. She’s not even sure how to name what had happened. She doesn’t want to do this to herself anymore and yet she cannot help it. That’s how she’s always been, torn between two opposites. Torn between pleasing her parents and following her own desires. Torn between what she wished for her life to be and what it actually was. At this point she is almost positive that this affair is an illusion that will never bring her what she hopes for and yet she Apparates straight to the Cauldron. For while it is not what she truly wants, it is _something_. She needs at least something in her life.

Palms sweaty, heart racing she turns the door handle of room 7 and freezes. She did not expect her to be there already. She had always been the one to arrive first. Hermione is sitting on the chair with a half empty glass of wine in her hands and a pensive expression on her face. Something is off today. Narcissa accepts the glass of wine Hermione offers her. They both take a zip simultaneously.

“You were right”, the witch says, “about my reasons.”

Narcissa tenses, a shiver running down her spine. The truth is out. She had suspected so all along, but hearing it confirmed makes a difference still.

“Well, you forgot the fact that you’re ridiculously gorgeous, but other than that you were right.”

Narcissa can’t smile at the compliment. The other part hurts too much.

“So, what about you? Why are you doing this?”

She downs half the glass before she answers. “I feel the need to punish myself for not being the daughter my parents wanted.” She takes a deep breath. “And I hate myself for being a coward and not standing up to them.” And _I keep on returning because I crave more_ is the third reason she is unable to say. She holds on tight to the glass in her hands. What she just said, she has never confessed to anyone.

For the first time today Hermione looks at her. Narcissa guesses people don’t take her for one to struggle with self-loathing. She casts her eyes downwards, regretting what she just admitted. It makes her feel vulnerable, ashamed and she knows Hermione won’t be the one to comfort her.

The witch keeps regarding her, frowning she states her plain assessment. “You’re a lesbian.”

Narcissa is unable to neither confirm nor deny the truth. She doesn’t need to, though. The way she just flinched said it all. She tightens the grip on her glass. Her jaw is set tight. If it weren’t, she would tremble. Hermione continues to regard her with such intensity Narcissa wonders whether she is using Legilimency on her.

“Was I your first?”

The nod is barely visible.

Hermione slams her glass down on the table. “Oh God”, she murmurs, ”if I had known that.”

She starts a monologue that Narcissa doesn’t hear. She can only hear her own heartbeat in her head. Everything around her is muffled, blurry. Her heartbeat gets so loud it scares her. Panic rises; she clutches the glass tighter because now she actually does start to tremble. This must not be happening. _This must not be happening_.

_Crack._

A scream.

A gasp.

The piece of glass cuts, digs deep into her skin. Wine mixes with blood and becomes indistinguishable.

Hermione is at her side in mere seconds, grabs her hand and hooks her fingers underneath hers. “Open your hand.”

Only she doesn’t. She closes her fingers on her hand even more, forming a tight fist.

“Narcissa, what are you doing? Let go for Christ’s sake.” Hermione is almost screaming, there’s panic in her voice.

So this is it. This is what she has to do to make the witch care. While the sadness of this fact overwhelms her, her fingers shake. The witch manages to open her fist.

“Fuck.”

Fuck indeed. The piece has almost vanished in her flesh. Hermione leaves the room in a hurry, for whatever reason. She looks down at her hand and sees that she already removed the piece of glass. She didn’t even notice that. Soon the witch is back with a bottle of Firewhisky and some handkerchiefs. She takes her hand and pours some alcohol over it. Narcissa flinches because that actually hurt like shit.

“I’m sorry”, Hermione says, “but I have to do that to disinfect the wound.”

How so, Narcissa wonders. Why doesn’t she just use her wand? Then she realizes that this must be the Muggle way to cater to wounds. This must be what Hermione had been taught when she was a girl. The thought is quite endearing. It is also like a knife that stabs her right in her chest. It makes her painfully aware that she knows nothing about the other woman, not more than the so called writers at the Prophet. They come from two completely different worlds and no matter how close they have been physically, there couldn’t be more distance between them. It crashes down on her, the castle she has built in her head over the past weeks. Suddenly the witch’s touch becomes unbearable. “I have to go”, she says and pulls her injured hand away.

“Just wait a moment, the bandage isn’t finished yet.”

“I have to go”, she mutters and takes out her wand.

“No you cannot Disapparate like this. Let me take you …. Narcissa, no!”

Her feet hit the ground hard, she crashes into the wall and falls down to the floor. A hurried apparition is never a good idea. She sees that she has arrived in the hallway on the second floor instead of her bedroom.

“Mother? Is that you?”

Oh no. She cannot deal with her son right now, cannot let him see her like this. She gets up only with the help of her sane hand and stumbles towards her bedroom, without saying a word to him. She couldn’t if she wanted to with all the crying she is doing. She stops in the middle of her bedroom, clutching her head with her hands, wanting for the voices to go away, for the million different thoughts that invade her head to vanish. She doesn’t know how to deal with so much emotion.

“Mother, come sit down”, Draco tells her. She hadn’t even noticed he followed her.

He guides her over to the bed and sits her down. “Who did that to you?” He looks at her injured hand. “Mother, who did that to you?”, he asks again.

She only shakes her head. She cannot formulate sentences right now, cannot grasp a single clear thought, only … “Andromeda.” Her middle sister was the only one she could ever cry with. Bellatrix loved her deeply, protected her fiercely, but she never knew how to comfort her.

“Mother, please, calm down.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, gives it a little squeeze.

It is a nice effort, but it’s not enough. She wants someone to hold her, but she has never known how to comfort him and now, he doesn’t know how to comfort her. “Please. Andromeda.”

“How am I supposed to get her?”, he questions helplessly. “I could contact father. He said he’s got a lot of work to do tonight, but I’m sure he’ll …”

“No! I need my sister.”

Draco leaves and she can only hope that he is able to get a hold of her sister. And even more so she hopes he respects her wish and does not fetch Lucius. She’d rather continue to be a sobbing mess here than to be with him, now. The mere thought of lying next to him tonight, of waking up with him, of him flicking through the Prophet and reading that his wife … She rushes to the bathroom and vomits. Afterwards she remains sitting on the floor, thoughts dissolving slowly until there’s only one left: how is she going to continue like this?

She doesn’t know for how long she has been sitting here like this, only that she started feeling numb a while ago. Somewhere through the numbness she thinks she hears voices. Distant, far away. Draco. Yes, that’s Draco’s voice and someone else’s she doesn’t recognize. She flinches as someone rests their forehead against hers, caressing her cheeks with their thumbs, wiping tears and pain away like they used to when they were children. When they were children? “Andy?” She snaps back to reality.

“Yes, I’m here, now.”

At those words she starts crying again. Only now that her sister is here it truly hits her how much she has been missing her.

“Let me see this.” Andromeda grabs her injured hand and carefully takes off the bandage. “That’s nothing a little spell won’t fix. _Tergeo_.” The blood vanishes. “ _Episkey_. There you go. Come on, let’s go sit somewhere more comfortable.”

Andromeda leads her over to the bed. There is no couch or anything like it in her room. They sit next to each other in uncomfortable silence. Now that the tears have dried, the comfort of a moment ago has turned into a strange mixture of both closeness and distance at the same time. There is so much to say and yet there’s nothing to say.

Andromeda clears her throat. “Do you wanna talk about it? What happened?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Did Lucius screw up?”

“No, I did.”

Andromeda gasps. “You’re having an extramarital affair, aren’t you? Oh, thank God!”

“What?!” How did she guess it? Has she been this easy to read lately?

“Well, you never loved Lucius, right? Although you did throw yourself at him back then.”

“No, you’re right, I never loved him and yes, I do have an affair.”

“Ok, so where’s the problem with this affair?”

“Well, it started off purely sexual, but now I think I want more than that.”

“And he doesn’t?”

“No.” Narcissa’s voice quavers. For a moment she wonders if she should just continue lying, but then she says, “ _She_ does not.”

“She?”

“Yes.” It’s a whisper.

“And are your feelings for the fairer sex a recent development?”

“No.” Narcissa has kept her eyes off of her sister the entire time they spoke, but she feels Andy’s gaze on her like fire burning her up.

“So you’re a lesbian.”

She flinches. “Andromeda, please!”

“You foolish girl!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s bad enough that you’ve been with someone you don’t love for so long, but you don’t really mean to tell me you entered a marriage with a man when you’re gay.”

She flinches again.

“You know, you really have to get that under control. That flinching when someone says you’re …”

“Stop it for Merlin’s sake!” It’s too much. The casual way in which her sister talks about this, the fact that she doesn’t question it, should make her feel relieved, but it’s too much too soon.

“Alright.” Andromeda throws her hands up in the air. She sighs. “Why did you marry him, Cissy?”

“What was I supposed to do?”, she says defensively. “You know I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you did. You could have said no. You could have left. I…”

“I am not you! I am not that strong. I do care what people think about me.” Narcissa puts a hand over her mouth. The tears are back. “God, Andy, I’ve made such a mess of my life”, she mutters behind her hand, “I don’t know how to undo this.”

“And you’re sure it’s just sexual for her?”

Narcissa scoffs. “I’m not even sure it’s sexual for her. I think she just enjoys hurting me.”

Andromeda raises a brow. “BDSM, little sister? Kinky.” She nods approvingly.

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, Andromeda”, Narcissa says, rubbing her eyes, “that is not what I mean. I mean that she enjoys hurting me emotionally, playing with me, degrading me.”

“Sounds like she holds a mighty grudge against you.”

“Me, Bellatrix, the entire Pureblood community.”

“Are you going to tell me who we’re talking about? I’m not going to tell anyone, Cissy”, Andromeda adds as if she can read her mind.

“Hermione Granger.”

Andromeda’s eyes widen. “I don’t even know what to say to that. I never would have taken her to be the type for revenge. So, what are you gonna do now?”

“Nothing. It ended tonight.”

“I mean your life, Cissy. What are you going to do about it?”

Narcissa looks at her dumbfounded. The question is completely ridiculous. What on earth is she supposed to do? “Again the answer is nothing. I will continue as I have before. I have a family, wealth, power. I have a good life.”

“If you say so.”

Something in Andromeda’s voice, in the look on her face, makes Narcissa’s chest constrict. Tonight, though, she doesn’t dare to find out what that might be.


	6. Chapter 6

_A year later_

The restaurant is crowded as it always is on a Saturday night. Lots of eyes are on her as they always are when she’s out; even more so when she’s out with him. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy have always been a striking couple. In the early years people were enthralled by them for their family background, wealth, Lucius’ ambitions and Narcissa’s beauty. These days they are still enthralled by her beauty and amused by Lucius’ failure and downfall. Being the center of attention whenever she left the house was something Narcissa used to loathe. It is exhausting to never have a private moment. Over the years she got used to presenting the ideal version of a pureblood wife and nowadays she barely notices the eyes on her anymore. Tonight though is different. The gaze of a single pair of eyes in the sea of onlookers stands out. They’re not just looking at her. She can feel them stare at her with such intensity it makes her feel uneasy. Her eyes drift from her husband’s face over the other guests, searching for the intruder, until they find her. Her gaze is intense, unashamed and Narcissa has trouble holding it, _reading_ it. The witch’s eyes flicker from her to her husband and back. She raises her brow – barely noticeable – tilts her head down and with it Narcissa’s dignity. She knows exactly what the woman is thinking. Her cheeks flush in shame. Shame for being seen with him by her and shame for the simple fact that she is still with him. A year later and she still hasn’t walked out of this marriage. A fact of which her sister loves to remind her whenever she can.

Hermione is in the company of a man Narcissa recognizes as the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. A business meeting surely. He is about to retire in two months’ time and rumour has it she is about to take his place, becoming the youngest Head of Department the Ministry has ever seen.

Narcissa’s gaze falters when she feels her husband’s hand on her’s, caressing her skin, while his lips are lying sweet declarations of love. She hates his need to display affection publicly at any given chance, but this marriage is the only thing Lucius has left. Although his new business is going surprisingly well his image in the Wizarding community at large is still disastrous. The perfect image of their marriage is the only thing that keeps him from falling off the social radar completely. A marriage that exists solely on paper at this point. They barely spent time together anymore except for their weakly public outing and they stopped having sex altogether several months ago; the only positive development in her life. She became less pliable, too complicated and it was easier for him to go to a prostitute than her. Sometimes when they sit at the breakfast table in silence after one of his nights out, she wonders whether he’s been with the same prostitute she’s been with and it makes her chuckle into her tea.

She has not been in contact with Hermione since that embarrassing last meeting where she revealed too much. It confirmed her suspicion that the young woman never had more in mind than sex and degradation. Otherwise she would have come to her to apologize. At least the witch’s revenge did not go as far as contacting a certain beetle. She could not count the times she had turned the pages of the Daily Prophet with a trembling hand, afraid she might see her inner most secret revealed. Although she is glad that Hermione hasn’t gone to Skeeter it surprises her. It would have been the final stab, the ultimate revenge.

The end of their affair caused a mix of conflicting emotions Narcissa couldn’t quite work out. It felt like taking a step back. She certainly doesn’t miss the humiliation, but she misses the bit of freedom that came along with it. And somehow she misses Hermione. It’s a feeling she doesn’t quite understand because they certainly never got to know each other. Sometimes she thinks she misses her for all the things she doesn’t know about her and now will never have the chance to learn. Of course, they saw each other every now and then in Diagon Ally and although Narcissa would never admit to it, she had been keeping up with her career within the Ministry through every article in the Prophet she could find. When their paths crossed in one of the shops of Diagon Narcissa was quick to change directions for she had no idea what to say to her. Next week though was the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and Lucius, Draco and herself were invited. Well, Lucius wasn’t precisely named, but the invitation said they were meant to bring someone and of course her husband would be her plus one. He had been going on about the celebration like a first year about his first day of school. He was anxious because he hoped to rekindle some old ties with all the Ministry officials who were going to be there. She was anxious because Hermione was going to be there as well. And this time she might not be able to avoid her because obviously all three members of the Golden Trio were going to be there and Mr. Potter liked to briefly chat with her when they met. Her act on that gruesome night four years ago made quite the impression on him. He likes to emphasize how she had saved his life that night. She finds him to be exaggerating. She has never liked his tendency for the dramatic. Before they part he always asks about Draco. The two boys – men – have not spoken since the war, a step they are apparently not ready to take, but Potter keeps up with his wellbeing through her which she finds both surprising and touching. She has been trying to brace herself for that obligatory chat with Potter at the anniversary because Hermione might be with him. Now, as the witch is sitting a few tables away from her, she realizes her preparations have failed miserably. She tries to keep her eyes off her but every few minutes a magnet seems to force her to glance at the witch and whenever she does time seems to stop and it becomes difficult to breathe. She needs a break from this tension and so she excuses herself and heads for the bathroom.

Thankfully the bathroom is empty. She supports herself on the sink and releases a shaky breath. She turns the tab on and holds her hands underneath it. Palms upwards she lets the cool water run over her wrists, calming her. She jolts out of this moment when the door opens and she is standing there. Life is a fucking Mills and Boone sometimes. Hermione nods her greeting, turns to the mirror above the other sink and starts a retouch on her make-up. Every now and then the woman side eyes her with a furrowed brow, taking in her slumped posture and her wrists under the stream of water. Narcissa turns the tab off and straightens her back. She cannot stand being pitied.

“Will you be attending the annual celebration next week?”, she asks. It’s a stupid, redundant question because she already knows the answer but she feels the need to say something and the things she truly needs to say are unspeakable.

“I’m not exactly looking forward to it, but yes, I will be there.”

Narcissa smiles for she can well imagine that big outings like that are not on the witch’s top list.

As Hermione brushes through her curls she asks, “You will be attending as well?”

Narcissa nods and dries her hands on the grey towel.

“With your husband?”

The question bewilders her. “Of course”, she says.

“Of course”, Hermione repeats with a small smile. She holds her gaze for a while as if she wants to say more and Narcissa braces herself for the insult that is about to come, but it doesn’t.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Narcissa”, the witch says, placing her hand on her forearm. She inhales sharply. Her skin tingles where Hermione touches her and the feeling travels through her arm into her chest, making the hair on her neck stand.

When Hermione has left she slumps back against the wall in defeat. She is in much deeper than she thought.

…

Red lips, red nails, a strapless red dress with a cut-out that is way too low and a slit that is way too high. It is about ten minutes before they have to leave, but Narcissa is still scrutinizing her appearance in the floor length mirror. Originally she thought this dress was way too risky and she doesn’t really feel like drawing much attention to her at the moment. But then again, she is going to draw attention anyway, just by being who she is, so she figured she might as well go out guns blazing. An image appears in the mirror next to her own. Lucius is tapping his fingers on his watch. “Do I look alright?”, she whispers and brushes a curl behind her ear.

“What will it take for you to realize you always look perfect?”, he shakes his head.

She shrugs and tears her eyes away from the mirror. Linking arms they Apparate.

Hogwarts lies before them as grand as ever. She couldn’t count the times she walked towards the grand entrance door and yet she is still impressed. She loves coming back here and the memories that come along with it. They’re bittersweet and yet, looking back on it, her time at Hogwarts was probably when she was the happiest.

When they approach she can already hear busy chatter emanating from the Great Hall. Many guests have already arrived. Of course, she and her husband are fashionably late. One cannot make an entrance without an audience.

“Ready?”, Lucius asks and holds out his arm. She nods and lays her hand on top of his hand, letting him lead her like a puppy. Carrying her face of arrogance she is prepared for the heads that turn inevitably as they step into the Great Hall. She knows she just turned most men here into horney dogs and their wives into envious hens. Lucius doesn’t waste much time and strikes up a conversation with the first Ministry official he can find and she starts to play her role as the accessory.

After about an hour of small talk she is ready for her five-minute break that she intends to spend with absolutely no one but a large glass of firewhisky. She has barely taken a zip when she sees Potter approaching her for, what she guesses, will be his obligatory thank you speech. In the background she can see Ronald Weasly sulking and eyeing her suspiciously. When will that boy grow up?

“Mrs. Malfoy, it’s good to see you here”, Harry Potter smiles at her and they shake hands.

“I’m glad to hear that. Although not everyone seems to agree with that” she smirks looking at Weasly who is now throwing daggers at her.

“Well, forgive him”, Potter says,”he can be quite childish. You have every right to be here. If it weren’t for your remarkable actions that night, we wouldn’t even be celebrating tonight. What you did was…”

_Here we go_ , Narcissa thinks and downs her whisky. She knows what he’s going to say. It’s always the same, only the wording differs.

“There you are!” The familiar female voice makes her jolt and turn her head so fast it hurts her neck. She did not see her coming for she approached them from behind, did not have time to steal herself and now her heart beats fast and her body goes rigid as the witch walks past her so close they almost touch.

“Ginny has been looking for you all over. I think you better go see her”, Hermione says.

“Oh, alright. Well, it was really good to see you, Mrs. Malfoy”, Potter says and shakes her hand again.

“Good to see you, too, Potter” she says and watches him walk off, for once whishing he would stay because Hermione is standing in front of her now, looking like she has no intention of leaving.

“Can I get you another one?” she asks.

Narcissa has no idea what she is referring to because the only thing she has been doing since Hermione stepped onto the scene is to stare into those hazel eyes like she is in a daze. The witch points to her empty glass and she understands and sees her chance to get out of this situation. “No, thank you. I should be going back to Lucius”, she says.

„That’s a shame. I had hoped you would come with me for a second. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Now that sparks her interest. Who could the witch possible know that she needed to meet?

“Alright then”, she nods towards Hermione, asking her to lead the way.  She follows the witch out of the Great Hall. She has an uneasy feeling as she leads her up the stairs to one of the towers. Why is that person waiting somewhere out here? Or was it a lie and there is no one waiting for her? Maybe Hermione is looking for a repetition of one of their meetings and if so, Narcissa is not sure how she feels about that.

The witch notices her resistance. She turns to her. “I know you have no reason to, but please trust me. I don’t mean any harm.”

Narcissa nods and they continue to climb the stairs. When they step onto one of the balconies she stops dead in her tracks. It couldn’t be. Hermione’s hand is on the small of her back and pushes her further onto the balcony.

“When I heard that you two _knew_ each other, I simply had to invite her here as my plus one. I will be going now. Enjoy your evening”, Hermione says and leaves them alone.

“Narcissa”, the witch greets her and takes her hand to give her a hand kiss.

Narcissa inhales sharply. Her skin tingles where the woman’s lips hover; _hover_ not touch. She knows the etiquette.

“Madeleine. Still the perfect gentleman, I see.”

“Always.”

As a well-trained socialite Madeleine starts some small talk and they chat meaninglessly for a while. Narcissa enquires about her time in France, her career and return to Britain. The woman though is careful enough not to ask too much of Narcissa’s life since they lost contact and she is grateful for it. Madeleine can probably imagine it wasn’t quite what she had hoped for when she was young. When the easy questions and answers have been given, a silence settles that is heavy with the questions that are truly of importance. Narcissa is in no hurry to break this silence though. Never having been one to shy away from confrontation, she feels Madeleine will make the first step and tell her why she wanted to meet her. After a few zips of elven wine and shy glances hidden by the night her intuition is confirmed.

“So, is divorce a possibility?”

“Not such a gentlemen after all.”

“Forgive my bluntness, but I’d like to know if I would be wasting my time”, the woman explains seriously.

“Wasting your time with what exactly?”

“Courting you.”

For a second Narcissa struggles to keep up with reality as this evening takes a turn she would not have foreseen in a million years. “Is that truly what you intend to do?”

Madeleine nods. “So, is it a possibility?”

Narcissa has thought about divorce a million times, but she has never _really_ thought about it, has never seriously considered what it would mean to actually go through with it. Now she is unsure how to answer that question. “I guess, if … the right woman came along who is worth it”, is her cliché answer.

Now Madeleine turns her whole body towards her and tilts her head to the side, her short red curls jumping a little bit. “Shouldn’t you be that woman?”

It seems that the witch has not lost her talent for rendering her speechless for the question implies something Narcissa rarely dares to consider.

“You don’t have to answer me tonight. Take your time to think about it”, Madeleine says and turns to leave. She places her hand on her forearm. “I’ll be awaiting your owl.” She caresses her skin with her thumb and steps from the balcony.

Narcissa releases a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She feels hot and cold and leans on the railing to steady herself. Thunder disturbs the silence of the night. She looks up at the star-adorned sky and sees a bright lightning bolt. A storm is coming.


	7. Chapter 7

The bird flaps its wings powerfully, purposefully, away from the big estate toward its goal. Soon it is just a small black spot in the sky marking a turning point in her life. Narcissa feels strangely calm considering what she has just done. She sent a letter to Madeleine asking her out on a date next Wednesday. It’s not a typical day for a date but Lucius will be on a business trip, taking Draco along. She won’t have to answer questions. This moment might be the beginning of a new life. If it is, she will have to make a lot of changes, face questions, endure arguments and lack of understanding. She tries not think about this too much right now, taking one step at the time.

...

Wednesday, early evening and she is getting a bit nervous. It is the good, exciting kind of nervous, though; she’s looking forward to the date. If someone asked her whether there ever was a time when she was happy, she would say it was her time as a student at Hogwarts. She was happy then because she was away from home and with Madeleine. It was an innocent teenage romance. Holding hands during walks through the Forbidden Forest, kisses in the dark deserted corners of the castle, glances stolen during class. Years later she used to kick herself in the arse for the fact that they never went any further, but they were too afraid. No. That’s a lie. It was Narcissa who was a coward; too afraid of her parents, too concerned with people’s opinions, too scared to leave everything behind and live a different life. Madeleine was bold, courageous even back then. So when Lucius proposed and she accepted, Madeleine called it quits, not willing to be her backdoor woman. Narcissa was completely devastated. Even years later there were still times where she would cry silently at night because she wished it was Madeleine lying next to her. Today, Narcissa no longer blames her for the decision she made. In fact, she is glad that Madeleine didn’t choose the same path because now she knows what a life of lies and self-repression does to someone. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone and she doesn’t wish it on herself anymore. She does the final touches on her make-up.

They sit at a small table in an intimate corner of the restaurant where the chatter of the Muggles around them doesn’t reach. A Muggle restaurant was probably the last thing Narcissa expected. She is pleasantly surprised at the thoughtfulness, though. No one knows them here, a fact that allows them to throw meaningful glances at each other all night. She’s grateful for the anonymity because she is completely unable to keep her eyes off Madeleine. The witch is wearing a stunning black suit that is tailored perfectly to her feminine form, something she picked up in France where the Wizarding community is apparently a lot more forward fashion wise. Narcissa hangs on to every word of her burgundy lips in awe of the life Madeleine has lived, slightly melancholic that she didn’t live it with her. She is hesitant to talk about her own life. Her sisters, her marriage to a Death Eater, her involvement in the war – most parts of her life are taboo subjects.

“Have you never thought about tossing it all out the window?”, Madeleine suddenly asks.

“No, not really. At least not until recently when it started to become …” _Unbearable_ she thinks, but doesn’t say it. The mere thought of the last one and a half years constricts her throat. Instead she tries to explain herself. “My upbringing prepared me to be a wife and socialite from day one and I never truly questioned it. I was afraid of social rejection, I wanted to please my parents, Lucius and once I had Draco, of course I wanted him to have a family. I guess I always put everyone else first.”

“Draco is a grown man, now.” Madeleine counters.

Of course, Narcissa realizes the implications this statement holds. There are no more excuses.

“You should respect yourself, Narcissa. Respect yourself enough to put yourself first for once.”

“You’re probably right, if it is not too late, that is”, Narcissa wonders more to herself.

“I certainly don’t think it is.” The witch winks and Narcissa, for the first time in years, feels something akin to hopeful.

The conversation continues smoothly until Madeleine asks, “What happened between you and Granger?”

Good question. She’s not exactly sure what happened between them.

“Well, we had an affair, just a fling really about a year ago. It only lasted a couple of weeks.”

“And? What else?”

“What else? Nothing else happened.” Narcissa is genuinely confused, wondering what makes the witch think it could have been anything else.

“Don’t try to fool me”, Madeleine smirks. “When I said that I’d love to go out with you, she asked me to be, and I quote, ‘very gentle’ with you.”

The piece of steak takes the wrong path in her throat, blocking her airway, making her cough violently.

“Oh dear …” Madeleine quickly refills her glass and she gratefully takes a zip.

“She did not say that.” Narcissa shakes her head, patting the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

“Her words exactly”, Madeleine insists. “What did she mean by that?”

“I have no idea”, Narcissa says because she really hasn’t. What in Merlin’s name is going in that witch’s head? And she does not mean the one in front of her.

After dinner they walk through the streets in darkness and silence with one question on Narcissa’s mind: how should she say goodbye to her? They are obviously past the stage where you can just shake hands. She could go for a hug, but then again that usually feels too intimate to her. Or she could give her a kiss on each cheek, a gesture that is both intimate and distant at the same time. If she could, she would slap herself across the face for it is such a foolish, such a juvenile question to be concerned about and yet she wonders. It has been ages since she has been on a date. She had forgotten all the little insecurities that came along with it.They turn around a corner and into an alley between two old deserted buildings. Not a pretty spot, but a good spot for apparition. They turn towards each other and automatically she puts her hand on Madeleine’s forearm.

“Thank you for the evening, Madeleine. I had a wonderful time.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.” The witch smiles.

They both lean in for a kiss on the cheek. A brief second and the moment comes where Narcissa should move to place a kiss on her other cheek, but she can’t. Merlin, what kind of perfume is that? It engulfs her completely, numbs all of her senses, makes her dizzy. The feeling of Madeleine’s soft skin against hers, the sound of her heartbeat so close to hers, it renders her senseless.

“How is it possible you still make me feel this way?”, Naricssa whispers.

“What way would that be?”, the witch wonders in the same anticipation-filled whisper.

Narcissa moves her head, their faces only inches apart and decides that for once she will take what she wants.

“This” she whispers and brushes her lips against the witch’s. Madeleine pulls her close by the small of her back. She yelps as they spin, not expecting the apparition.

She finds herself flat on a sofa with Madeleine between her legs. She has enjoyed Madeleine’s idea of courting so far, but now it takes an unconventional turn. “I don’t think this is what Hermione meant when she asked you to be gentle”, she says.

“Probably not.” The witch laughs deeply, pushes her thigh to her core, making her moan. Damn her libido. “But you’re just too hot not to.”

Narcissa freezes, her blood running cold. This is what it’s always been about, has it not? Her looks, beauty, her curves. Lovers, male or female, want to love her body, but who wants to love _her_? They all touch her body, but never her soul. It makes her so sad it hurts and she realizes she doesn’t want to do this anymore, _cannot_ do this anymore. Suddenly she shivers at Madeleine’s touch for the wrong reasons, so she pushes her away, gets up.

“What are you doing?”, the witch asks.

“What you told me to. I’m respecting myself.”

With that she leaves the house.


	8. Chapter 8

It is funny how surreal reality can be. She feels so out of her skin, out of touch with her environment right now. She’s sitting at the dinner table, alone, trying to grasp what her husband just asked of her. To put it plain simple: he asked her to prostitute herself. To Barnaby Smith, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Lucius talked to him at the Anniversary celebration. It was a very successful conversation apparently. He offered him promising business ties overseas under one condition: he’d have his wife.

  
Lucius hasn’t exactly shown a great deal of caring toward her lately and she doesn’t expect him to, never has, but that he would ask this of her throws her off. Such lack of respect. Whether she agrees or not shouldn’t even be question she considers and yet she does. If she asked her mother for advice she would tell her to submit. It’s her duty as a wife and sometimes she  thinks it’s just in her nature, submitting herself to others, doing what is asked of her without question. If she asked her sister for advice  Andy would immediately submit her to the mental ward of St. Mungos. It’s insane, only a couple of weeks ago she would not have considered it but that was when she thought she was going to be with Madeleine again. It’s not like the woman hasn’t tried to get a second chance.  She bombarded her with apologies in all forms that Narcissa can’t accept. Something got lost when Madeleine took ten steps at once and she cannot get over it. In hindsight she has also been wondering whether she was actually attracted to Madeleine or rather to what could have been. She had to admit to herself that the kiss was like a reheated meal; good, but never like the freshly cooked original. When she walked away from Madeleine she said she was going to respect herself, which should give her the answer to the question she is facing. Only she cannot find a reason anymore. She had seriously considered divorce, coming out, but now the circumstances have changed. Of course she could still do it but for what? For a life of truth, but loneliness, without a family? The thought terrifies her – being alone – which is quite funny. She has been lonely most of her life after all, but actually being alone is another thing. She cannot find a reason to fulfill her husband’s demand, only problem is she also cannot find a reason not to. The holy trinity of her life – hopelessness, lethargy, self-loathing – is consuming her once more. She’s made a decision.

 

…

  
The office is large, underlining the importance of the position, the power. She has been waiting in here for a couple of minutes now. When the secretary closed the door behind her it felt like a prison door closing. She’s been steeling herself though. Her face is covered in a heavy layer of make-up, her skirt and blazer a steel gray, a black veil in front of her eyes, it is all like an armour, helping to dissociate herself from the situation. 

  
The door opens – “Mrs. Malfoy, what a pleasure” – Smith is entering the office. “I was very glad to hear we have an agreement, though I expected no less. Mr. Malfoy has been telling me you are quite …” he continues, but Narcissa doesn’t take much of it in. Suddenly the reality of the situation hits her, amplifying her nervousness by tenfold. She looks him up and down. He’s somewhat small for a man, about her height, but strong. One might also say overweight, his belly pressing against the restraints of his belt. She’s going to have sex with this man. Oh God.

  
He looks at her with questioning eyes, probably expecting an answer to some question that she didn’t hear. “I see you are not one for small talk. Let’s get straight to it, then”, he smirks and starts to take of his jacket, undo his tie.

  
She tries to calm herself by taking deep slow breaths. She can do this, she tells herself. It’s not like this is the first time, she knows how to get through this. Smith approaches. She takes off her gloves and suddenly he presses his lips on hers, her eyes growing wide.  I t’s taken her by surprise. This is not the type of arrangement where she thought he would want to kiss her. They stumble backwards till her back hits the desk. His tongue roams her mouth, making her feel so invaded, sick. Clicking, the sound of his belt opening. He leads her hand to his groin. She shudders, whimpers. He pushes her down and she might vomit. No. Absolutely not. She cannot do this. “I cannot do this”, she says, pushes him away.

  
“What do you mean you cannot do this?” His breathing is heavy, his tone aggravated. “We had an agreement.”

  
“I’ve changed my mind.” She puts her gloves back on.

  
“No, you haven’t.” He grabs her, throws her down. Her neck collides with the rim of the desk, feeling like it is breaking. He’s on her, traps her between the desk and himself. She hits him, scratches, screams, knows no one will hear her. Ministry rooms are all enchanted with a Muffliato for secrecy reasons, but she needs to do everything to make it known she does not want this. “Who the fuck do you think I am? You’ll give me what I want, bitch.” He forces her mouth open with his hands. Her heart beats in her throat, she knows this is it, there is no escape now. He’s going to rape her. She’s hyperventilating, feels the tip of his cock in her mouth and screams like she never has in her life.

  
“GET OFF HER!”

  
Smith drops her, she falls to the floor, lies there and keeps her eyes shut tight. Maybe this all just goes away if she keeps them shut.

  
“What do you think you’re doing here?”, Smith bellows. “The Malfoys and I have an agreement.”

  
“Have you expressed your unwillingness to engage in this agreement, Mrs. Malfoy?” 

  
She  recognizes Hermione’s voice and nods.

  
“There goes your agreement, Smith,” Hermione says.

  
“Stay out of this. This is none of your business”, he growls.

  
“I’m the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It bloody well is my business if someone is being raped in the Ministry! Come on, let’s get out of here.” Hermione picks her up, puts her arm around her and leads her out of the office. “You can expect that I will file a law suit”, the woman says to Smith as they leave.

  
They walk fast.  Narcissa covers her mouth with her hand, trying to keep herself from sobbing violently. She keeps her eyes to the floor, knowing people are watching them. The arm around her shoulder remains strong, guiding her.

  
“Out! Everybody get out”, the witch demands. Witches and wizards hurry out of the elevator, making room for only the two of them. A short ride, they leave the elevator and step into an office. The door closes and she breaks down. The arm still around her, Hermione pulls her towards her. She struggles; she’s not used to being weak, but Hermione is persistent. “Come here, let me hold you”, she says and holds her tight. One hand caressing her hair, another drawing circles on her back she calms down. She stays in the embrace even after her sobbing has subsided. No one has ever held her like this, building themselves around her like a fortress, making her body feel so heavy and her head so light. She wonders why she finds so much comfort in the other woman and wonders why Hermione is willing to give it. She’s still wobbly on her legs. The witch makes her sit down, a hand on her shoulder keeping their connection. 

  
“Thank you”, Narcissa says, putting her hand over Hermione’s.

  
“Not for that.” The witch squeezes her shoulder.

  
“You weren’t there by incident, were you?”

  
“No. I overheard bits and pieces of a conversation between Malfoy and Smith. When two men like that mingle nothing good can come out of it. Now when I saw you heading for the Department today – all by yourself, all dolled up – I just had a gut feeling something terrible was going on. I’m glad I arrived there in time.”

  
Why though? Why do you care what happens to me?” She doesn’t understand it. Had Hermione just happened to be there, fine, but for her to actively come to her help? It doesn’t make sense to her.

  
Does it even make sense to the woman herself? She sees the struggle on Hermione’s face, her lips parting as if to say something but then closing again. She repeats the action a few times until she says, “You might not believe me, but I never would have wanted that to happen to you. And I am sorry. I am sorry for the way I treated you. It was terrible.”

  
“Parts of it were”, Narcissa agrees. “And other parts weren’t. I’m an adult and I knew very well what I was consenting to and I _did_ consent – mostly.”

  
“Mostly, but not entirely and I apologize for that.”

  
She accepts the apology and makes to leave. She feels exhausted, drained and just wants to go home. What else is there to say except “Please don’t file a law suit. I don’t want it. The hearing, the public attention, I cannot go through that.”

  
“I’m sorry, but I have to. Even if I didn’t want to, from a professional point I’m obligated to file a law suit when I know of a crime. That aside, it is time you start to stand up for yourself.”

  
Hasn’t she heard the same from another woman not too long ago? Briefly she wonders whether Madeleine and Hermione have made a secret pact. Or maybe this is the universe setting the path for her.

  
“And”, Hermione adds, “if you can’t see it through on your own, I will help you.”

  
If Narcissa hadn’t been brought up to be so in control, her face would betray her emotions right now. She cannot possibly suggest to stand by her side through this, can she? People usually don’t offer that sort of support to her and she doesn’t know how to respond to it, so she says the next best thing on her mind. “Lucius will be furious that I broke my promise.”

  
“If you think you won’t be safe at home, you shouldn’t go. Can you stay anywhere else?”

  
It takes a few seconds before the idea comes to her. “I can, possibly. My sister’s.” It is  a  strange  thing to say. She has never considered asking someone for help, most certainly not the long lost sister, but knowing Andromeda, she will probably open her home to her in the blink of an eye.

  
“Good, promise me you’ll go there? Right now?”, Hermione demands.

  
“Yes, of course”, is the rushed answer. She is both touched and bewildered by the display of care. She turns to leave, not knowing how to navigate the situation anymore. This day has thrown too much at her.

  
“Narcissa?” 

  
She stops dead in her tracks, chills running down her spine from hearing her name on the woman’s lips. 

  
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  
The thought crosses her mind within seconds. It is ridiculous, insane really, but who knows when an opportunity like this will present itself again. And so holding her breath she says, “Perhaps you could take me out on a date, a  _proper_ date. Would you?”

  
“Yes, I would.” 

  
Narcissa releases her breath and leaves, taking the woman’s promises with her.


	9. Chapter 9

Muscles tense as can be she rolls her neck in hope to release the tension, but – “Ah” – a hiss, her face contorts. The rare show of pain earning her a concerned look from the big sister who gently begins to massage the salve into her skin. The hand stops momentarily and Narcissa knows she has noticed the bruise. There would have been no use in trying to hide it, an angry purple-blue mark across her neck in plain sight that she knows sparks suspicions and questions that her sister is considerate enough not to ask. Just like she didn’t ask questions when Narcissa showed up at her door tonight. They will talk, she knows, but for now she closes her eyes in the comfort of knowing her sister is there for her.

Andromeda doesn’t last long. She gives Narcissa exactly one cup of breakfast tea and three bites of scrambled eggs before wanting to know what happened. She does not feel like telling because she has no words. Andromeda, though, has a way of asking gently and yet demanding that makes her give in still. And so she tells and the sister tries hard just to listen without voicing her anger or leaving to hex another blonde into oblivion. When the story is told Andromeda makes to speak, but she cuts her off with a shake of her head. She doesn’t need to hear it for she knows everything her sister has to say on this, but Andromeda cannot help herself. 

“This needs to stop, Cissy. Right now.” She squeezes her hand, a supporting, but pressuring gesture.

“I know.” It’s just a breath.

“You won’t be going back”, Andromeda states, knowing of Narcissa’s wavering nature.

There’s no need to respond to that, the warning clear in the other’s voice. She knows she won’t be going back, only over her sister’s dead body. Andromeda has been very patient for the last year, watching her take one step forward and two back, but this is the end of her patience. Narcissa doesn’t even want to go back this time. Never has she been so grateful for her sister’s existence. She would not know where to go if it weren’t for her.

“What can I do? What do you need, sister?”

Andromeda, so straight to the point, so opposite to her. What does she need? A lawyer probably. She can’t call the family lawyer, he will side with Lucius. She might ask Hermione, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has to know the best of the best. First though, she needs help with something much more simple.

“I need to choose a dress.”

“Excuse me? You’re worried about a dress right now?”

“Well, I have a date this weekend”, she says, cheeks blushing as if she was a teenager. “With Hermione.”

Self-satisfied Andromeda leans back, sipping on her coffee. “I knew it”, she smirks and Narcissa rolls her eyes.

 

…

 

The image in the mirror leaves her insecure. She decided on a blue dress. Well, Andromeda decided. The dress is a rich sapphire blue, tight, clinging to her curves. Narcissa had wanted something more daring that shows some cleavage, in red maybe, but her sister insisted she didn’t need all that. Maybe she is right and Narcissa should stop relaying on her body so much. She does really like Hermione and wants the woman to like her for more than her looks. She did, however, insist on her signature red lipstick. That is just a must.

“Cissy?” Andromeda is poking her head through the door. “She’s here.”

Salazar. Here we go. There is this fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach as she descends the stairs. That feeling where she can never quite figure out whether it is a comfortable or uncomfortable kind of nervousness 

She feels Andromeda hot on her heels. “What are you doing?” She turns around, her sister crashing into her.

“What do you mean? I’m going back downstairs.”

“Oh no, you’re not. I won’t have you lurking in the background like mommy while we leave.”

“Oh, someone’s nervous.” Andromeda’s eyes sparkle with joy.

“Oh screw you, Andy”, she hisses.

“Language, young lady!” Andromeda does a perfect impression of their mother, making herself and Narcissa laugh. Andromeda kisses her on the cheek before she heads back upstairs.

She didn’t think she could get more nervous, but the feeling does intensify as she sees Hermione standing in the living room. 

“Good evening, beautiful”, the witch greets her and Narcisssa’s heart jumps at the endearment and she realizes that she does not know how to navigate this situation, does not know what to say except for a whispered _hello_. This is so different from their previous encounters. She really hopes Hermione knows what she’s doing because she has no idea.

“Ready for a little trip?” the witch holds out her hand and Narcissa takes it with a smile. They spin, twirl and when they stop she feels herself sinking, almost stumbling. She looks down to see her feet stuck heel-deep in sand. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you to wear different shoes”, Hermione laughs and wiggles her own feet that are dressed in sandals. “Hold on?” She offers her arm and Narcissa gladly accepts the support.

She stumbles along on Hermione’s arm, enjoying the warm breeze against her skin. She takes in the scenery, the waves of the ocean hitting the shore softly, the evening sun painting the sky in magenta and orange. “Where are we? What is this place?” she wonders.

“We’re in Spain. It’s our old vacation home”, Hermione says and points toward a little cabin. “My parents and I used to come here every year for the summer holidays."

She’s never been to Spain before. “My family always went to France, of course. We have several estates in the south of France near the coast, but they have been deserted for ages.” Which is a shame, really. They’re magnificent. Maybe she should pay them a visit again. She could certainly do with a vacation. To her surprise they pass the cabin. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise!”

Oh, she dislikes surprises, just because it makes her very nervous not to know what’s awaiting her and so far this doesn’t seem to go like your average date. She certainly didn’t expect to travel to the Grangers’ old vacation destiny.

“Give me a hint at least!”, she pleads.

“Ah ah, good things come for girls who wait.” Hermione winks at her and she giggles, the playful banter making her feel carefree. 

They follow the shore until they reach the cliffs, the waves clashing rather softly against them. Hermione takes off her shoes and she follows suit. They enter the water and the witch leads her carefully around the cliffs, watchful not hit any stones underwater. She is fine with this, enjoys the water on her skin until Hermione rounds a corner and stops.

“Ready to go high?”, she asks and looks upwards.

Narcissa’s face reads  _You’ve got to be kidding me._ Hermione only smiles smugly. She looks down at herself, her attire. Oh this is just perfect, but she will not be a spoilsport today. “So, what do I do?”, she asks and Hermione seems pleasantly surprised by her eagerness.

“See those?” The witch points towards a couple of sharp edges that stick out of the wall of cliffs. There are holes not too far underneath every edge as if they had been carved into the wall by someone. “They appear in regular intervals. We can use them as a ladder.”

Great. This is just getting better by the minute. 

“Ladies first”, Hermione gestures for her to go first. 

She has to pull up her dress if she ought to have any chance at getting up there and so she pulls her dress up to her thighs, just a bit under the rim of her stockings, throws her heels into the water and starts the climb. It goes quite well and though it is demanding, it is not as exhausting as she feared. It’s as if this is meant for someone to climb. Hermione is hot on her heels, she feels her eyes on her constantly. “Eyes to the wall, Miss Granger.”

“You’re not making it easy”, the woman laughs. Narcissa’s dress rides up every time she puts her feet into another hole, revealing the rim of her stockings. 

They seem to be climbing forever, she dare not look down at this point for they have to be quite high. When she looks up, though, she can see the wall ending in a projection. She musters up her last strength and pulls herself onto it. She’s facing a wall that is, without a doubt, of magical nature. She can feel the magic radiating from it. Hermione settles next to her, takes her hand and presses it to a rough triangular shaped piece in the middle. The magic tickles her fingers, travels through her hand all the way up her arm, making her shudder. The wall dissolves, leaving a small entrance through which they crawl. Once inside the small entrance opens up into a vast cave. She falters at what is the most beautiful sight she has ever seen. Gorgeous little creatures are buzzing all around them. This cave hidden inside the cliffs is home to hundreds of fairies. They paint the cave in light shimmery pink. Awestruck she spins, taking in all of these wondrous beings until one sets her eyes on her. Blinking rapidly it moves towards her. The tiny creature, hovering mid-air, snaps her tiny fingers and the tight bun, that Narcissa created carfully, comes down. Her hair falling around her face in waves, the fairy grabs a strand, twists it around her fingers. Her skin tingles, her heart pumps blood through her veins with such force.

“It’s beautiful”, Hermione reckons, standing close behind her and Narcissa isn’t sure whom she is referring to. “The common fairy is a rather dull creature. Incredibly beautiful but with very low magical power. These however are …”

“Mountain fairies”, she finishes the sentence. “Their stronger magical abilities allow them to build caves. In contrast to the common fairy who lives in the woods, they prefer mountains or cliffs as their home due to their shy nature, keeping away from the Wizarding community, which is why they are not well studied.” She catches Hermione’s surprised look from the corner of her eye. “Yes, I paid attention in school”, she says smugly.

“I never thought you didn’t.”

“Yes, you did”, she responds as she sits down on a little rock. “You thought I was a weak, good-for nothing doll who was never interested in education because I was going to be a wife and mother anyway.” Hermione’s dumbfounded expression tells her she was right.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you”, the woman says, cheeks blushing as she sits down next to her. She takes no offense, knowing very well how most people, who don’t know her well, perceive her.

“I admit I might have underestimated your academic efforts. I did not, however, think you were weak”, Hermione continues as she pulls out a picnic basket from behind the rock and starts to lay out a variety of delicacies and wines in front of them. “You lied to Voldemort when it probably mattered the most. That takes strength, courage.”

The compliment is nice, but she refuses it. “You give me too much credit. I only did it for …”

“Draco. I know”, Hermione interrupts her. “Harry told me and it’s understandable. Doesn’t make it less brave. Brave in a very Slytherin way.”

“The Sorting Hat definitely got that right. You would have just outright fought him and his horde of Death Eaters, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would have, I’m a foolishly brave Gryffindor!”, Hermione confirms proudly and Narcissa laughs out loud.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh, but of course you know that”, Hermione says.

Hermione regardes her intensely, which makes her laughter die in her throat. No, actually she doesn’t know that, no one has ever told her. Hermione’s gaze makes her heartbeat skip and she feels she could fall straight into those eyes. She has to ground herself.“How did you discover this place?”, she asks.

“Well, back then I would have said it was by accident, now I would say it was destiny. I was eight years old. It was very early in the morning, the sun hadn’t even risen, but I couldn’t sleep anymore. So I got up and snuck outside while my parents were still sleeping. I was wandering along the cliffs here, playing in the water when the idea popped into my head to try and climb up the cliffs. It was completely insane of course, but as a child I didn’t think much about what could happen, I just felt the need to go up there. When I reached that wall I felt the magic immediately. Obviously I didn’t know it was magic then. I just felt so drawn to it and I put my hand to the triangle as if by instinct. The wall gave away and I discovered this beautiful place full of creatures I didn’t believe existed. The same day I brought my Dad up here after much convincing. I wanted to show him what I’d found, but …” Hermione’s expression darkens. “Well, nothing happened. He got quite angry, thought I’d played a joke on him. It all only made sense when my Hogwarts letter arrived.”

Narcissa is speechless. She realizes Hermione just told her about the first time she experienced magic. She can only imagine it must have been a life changing moment for the Muggleborn. This is anything but what she anticipated for the date. A nice dinner in a five-star restaurant, a dance afterwards maybe but this? This is so personal. The intimacy of it knocks her out. It is exactly what she wanted and now it overwhelms her.  _What are you doing? Please, don’t play me_ she wants to say, but isn’t able to breathe a word. 

“I never spoke of it again", Hermione continues, "but I came here every night when we were on holiday. I felt so comfortable here. It’s also a great place to watch the stars. See, over there.” Hermione takes her hand and leads her over to a little whole in the wall of the cave. The witch steps up behind her, too close for comfort, which leaves her no choice but to press herself right up against the wall. The view is incredible indeed. She studies the bright stars that adorn the sky until her eyes stop at Orion.

“Do you miss her?”

Bellatrix. That is a tricky question, especially coming from her. You shouldn’t start a relationship on lies, though, should you? She’s done that too many times. “I know I should not”, she says. “It is wrong.”

“It’s human.”

_Human_ . She equals being human with being weak, with conflicting emotions that make no sense to her.

“I miss parts of her”, she confesses, “but at the same time I feel relieved. I loved her, but she also terrified me. I would be in quite some trouble if she knew I was currently breaking every rule I grew up with.”

“I quite like you being a bad girl.” Hermione’s voice sounds low in her ear and when she turns she finds her face only inches away from her’s. Chills run down her spine as they stare into each other’s eyes. “It is quite late already.” She immediately kicks herself in the arse for she just ruined the moment, but she can barely stand the tension between them.

“You’re right. I have to be at work pretty early tomorrow. Let’s call it a night then.” Hermione takes her hand and the familiar tugging feeling spreads in her stomach. Seconds later her back collides with Andromeda’s front door.

“Spot on, Miss Granger.”

“You didn’t think I would make you climb down that mountain again, did you? So, did the date live up to your expectations?”

“Very much so”, she says, her voice quavering from uncertainty. Would they part ways after tonight? Is this an end or a beginning? While Narcissa fumbles for her wand to undo the enchantments on the door, Hermione says “Is there anything else I can do for you? Last chance.” Her tone is playful, but Narcissa takes the offer literally.

“There is.” She closes her eyes, because she doesn’t want to see Hermione’s reaction to her demand. “Kiss me.”

Seconds feel like hours, amplifying her anxiety, turning her into an insecure girl. She gasps as she feels fingers on her cheek. They draw patterns, ghosting over her skin like feathers. And then Hermione’s lips are on hers and she can’t breathe, she can’t think as she’s melting into the kiss. Time stands still as she cannot suppress the true nature of her feelings any longer. When she opens her eyes again, she looks into a face with blushing cheeks and wide hazel eyes full of surprise. It seems the kiss shook the other woman just as much. Hermione disapparates quickly with a murmured  _goodbye_ , leaving her with a yearning deep in her soul and body. She is glad Hermione left before they could end up in bed together again. She’s not ready for it because the kiss told her that next time it will be different. The next time they have sex –  _if_ they have sex – they will make love to each other.


	10. Chapter 10

On Monday she poured her heart out. It was the easiest and yet most difficult letter she ever wrote. It started off tame. She thanked Hermione for the wonderful date, enquired how she was doing, how work was, the usual courtesy, but oh then. Then she ran out of mundane things to say and her heart took over the quill in her hand. In the end she confessed that she had fallen for her. Yes, she, Narcissa Malfoy – the known ice queen – told someone she had fallen for them. It is the one thing not to do within these first uncertain weeks of dating and yet she did it. Hermione broke a wall down that night, gave her a taste of what life could be like with her and now, she cannot seem to wait any longer.

Every day she has been expecting a response to her letter. What she got was an official Ministry letter informing her about the time and place of the court hearing against Smith. Hermione sent a note with it, asking to meet in order to prepare for the trial. She has tried so hard to blend out the incident. Just thinking about the trail makes her feel ill, but it is on the horizon and she better be prepared. What only makes it worse is the second letter lying in front of her. It arrived already a couple of days ago. It was from Lucius and to be frank it wasn’t exactly a letter, it was a howler. It screamed at her to return to the Manor at once where they would talk about her behavior. A howler. She doesn’t know whether to be amused or angry. You send howlers to children, at best, not to a grown woman, your _wife_. It says clearly what he thinks of her. She hasn’t returned, of course, but she considers talking to him. She will file for divorce. She actually found a lawyer, met with her and ordered all the papers to be sent out next week. She feels obligated to tell him in person beforehand. Andromeda told her she doesn’t owe him shit – her words – but she feels it is only appropriate after thirty seven years of marriage. And apart from his deal with Smith he never disrespected her. Did he ever love her? She isn’t sure. He certainly wasn’t a caring and concerned husband, but she doesn’t hold it against him. Love is not what pureblood marriages are about and they both knew that going into it. Nevertheless they have always had respect for each other – excluding the last year – and that is how she wants to end this, respectful.

 

...

She counts the seconds, eyes locked on the door, waiting for it to open. She’s sitting on a small leather sofa in Hermione’s office, anxiously expecting her arrival. Funnily enough it’s not only and primarily the conversation about the upcoming trial that is making her nervous. This is the first time they will see each other after the date. She was sure she was going to get a positive response to her letter, but the woman left her hanging and now she feels insecure all over again. She has never been so honest about her feelings and she fears she might have been just a bit too honest too soon, scaring the witch off.

When Hermione finally enters, she takes a shuddered breath. Merlin, she missed her. She hadn’t even realized how much until this moment. It takes some will power to remain seated and not get up to embrace the witch, but Hermione dampens her spirits anyway. She is all business.

“I apologize I’m late. Crazy schedule today. So, let’s get right into it.” Hermione opens up a large file on her lap.  “As you know the trial is in three weeks which doesn’t leave us much time to prepare or me I should say; you don’t really have much to prepare for.”

Narcissa tsked. “I don’t? I feel like I have a war to prepare for and no idea how to do that.”

“Well, if everything goes as I hope and assume it will, you won’t have to testify as to the actual course of events.”

“What? How come?”

“See, the person who will be asked to testify first will be Smith and his lawyer has signaled that he _will_ testify and plead guilty.”

“And you believe that? Why would he plead guilty?” she asks bewildered.

“Because this trial is already a lost cause on his part. For one, not only am I your defense, but also your witness. Smith is an old bastard that is well known for corruption, only so far no one was brave enough to file a law suit against him, but I am. I am the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, the Golden Girl, the Brains, war hero. Who do you think they’re going to believe? I’d say it’ll be me. On top of that, as Head of Department you usually don’t take on cases anymore; only the big, prestigious ones at best. So the fact that I’m defending you is a statement in itself. So really, all Smith and his lawyer can do is to try and lessen his sentence and pledging guilty will certainly do that.”

Although it sounds that things might turn out in her favor, she sighs. “This case will attract a lot of public attention, won’t it?”

“I’m afraid it will,” Hermione agrees. “You are a high profile person, so is Smith and so am I. There is no way we can keep this out of the press. I’m sorry.”“Thank you, though, for doing this. With all the work you have to do, now you have to worry about this on top of everything.”

“Oh, don’t even think about it,” Hermione dismisses her with a wave of her hand. “It’s my pleasure, really. I can’t wait to see him go down. Now coming back to the actual hearing, the judge will of course give you the chance to testify as well and if Smith does give an accurate account of the incident, all you would have to do is agree. The judge might still ask you questions as to why you agreed to this deal in the first place, why you changed your mind and how you’ve been coping since the incident. Do you think you can do that?”

"Yes, of course”. Though it is no like it matters whether she can or cannot do that, she will just have to. She feels relieved, however, that she will not have to give a detailed account, say the actual words. That’s so difficult. Even Andromeda only knows the general course of events. It was all she could tell.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, but I need your opinion on a colleague of yours. Do you know Sandra Bernstein? I hired her. I’m filing for divorce.”

“You are? Good for you. And yes, I know her. She’s tough, excellent in her field. Good choice.” Hermione is back with her head in her documents and Narcissa is rather disappointed. She had hoped for more of a reaction to her getting divorced. The woman has been distant the entire time and she wonders why.

“Hermione, look at me. What’s going on?”

Hermione does look at her, confused, and suddenly Narcissa fears she will not like how this meeting might end.

“I assume you received my letter, have you not?” she asks.

“I have.” Hermione looks away from her again.

Narcissa can tell she doesn’t want to discuss this, but she has to know. They have been playing games for too long and now that her heart is in it, she cannot risk losing. “You did not respond, though. Tell me, did I misinterpret things? Was I actually naïve enough to take a courteous gesture for something more?”

The woman tilts her head down, twisting the quill in her hand.

Understanding hits her brutally.  “Well. That’s that.” She gets up, but the woman grabs her wrist strongly, almost painfully, forcing her back down. The grip relaxes and turns into a soft caress. Her heart drops as Hermione takes her hand to kiss it, kisses every finger and whispers “I’m sorry” against them. Then she leaves and Narcissa is left trembling on the inside. Salazar’s snake, what a mindfuck this is.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

It is silent. Silence can be so calming, head-clearing, but the silence that resides in this house is loud and hostile. The air smells old and heavy of confinement, congesting her lungs with a sense of duty that weighed her down for decades. She clicks her neck and her heels click on the marmor. “Draco?”

“He isn’t here.” Lucius throws a newspaper on the coffee table. _Perverted Greed. Malfoy gives wife up for prostitution. Trial set in two weeks_ it reads. “He hasn’t been here for weeks,” he says. _And it’s your fault_ he means. She knows he’s wrong, but it stings nevertheless. Draco has been silent for weeks indeed. It is understandable he would struggle with this situation, but his silence worries her for, to be frank, mostly selfish reasons. She’s afraid she will lose him, not necessarily over the Smith trial, but over the divorce. It is she who is breaking up his family after all. She will have to talk to him before Lucius does. Andy said she’d seen him a couple of times in Diagon Alley, stepping into the Golden Dragon, suspecting he’s staying there. The thought occurs to her to try her luck later today and see if she can find him there.

“I’m being charged, as well, for bribery.” Lucius scoffs.

“I did not know that.” It didn’t even occur to her Lucius could be charged as well. She is genuinely surprised and feels a bit guilty. Count the divorce on top of everything and Lucius will be done and in contrast to what one might think, it is not what she wants, but she doesn’t know how to avoid it either. “I did not file for a law suit. I had no choice.”

“Yes, I am aware of what happened. That goddamn Mudblood can’t even keep her righteous nose out of her enemies’ business. Pathetic.”

Fingers twitching, she stiffens at the insult toward Hermione. “If it is anyone’s fault it is mine. I agreed and then I broke my promise.”

“Indeed. You’ve ruined a great deal for me, but what’s done is done. At least you’ve come to your senses, now and returned. We need to show the public that we stand together now more than ever.”

“I am afraid I have to disappoint you again.” She inhales slowly before she says, “I have filed for divorce."

For the first time since she arrived Lucius truly looks at her. “Is this supposed to be joke?” His eyes search hers for the lie he hopes to find, but there’s only truth in them. She is serious and he realizes it. “You _cannot_ file for divorce, Narcissa.”

She understands perfectly what he means. They are purebloods and purebloods simply don’t file for divorce. In contrast to him, though, she also understands that times have changed. “Our traditions, our _blood_ is worthless in this new world, Lucius. I won’t bind myself to a system that no longer serves me in any way.”

He laughs. “Does my money not serve you? Does it not pay for the woman you are so desperate to portray?” He looks her up and down. Gesturing at the luxurious room around them he says, “You cannot live without this, Narcissa.”

So this is the one argument he thinks will make her stay. It’s almost sad how much they’ve drifted apart, how little he knows her these days. “Whether I can or cannot is irrelevant because I will never have to. I am a Black. I am more than wealthy on my own.” It is true. Even divided by three the Black fortune would have been enough to live on, but as it is, she is the sole heiress and Lucius knows. She sees it in his eyes, the fear that he has nothing that can make her stay.

He eases himself into his armchair. “And what about this family? What about _us_ as a couple?”

Her stomach drops. She sincerely hoped he wouldn’t bring emotions into this. She wonders whether he is sincere or trying to blackmail her. “I did what was expected of me. We formed a great, powerful union to thrive in this society, but this union has not the powerful meaning it used to have and that was the only thing it was ever about. We both know that, Lucius.”

He turns his gaze away from her, looking out of the window. A few times he makes to speak. He doesn’t need to speak, though, for her to know the question on his mind. _Do you love me? Did you ever?_ They never discussed this neither before they got married nor during the course of their marriage because it was irrelevant whether they did or not. He gets up and walks toward her. His close presence feels strange to her after such a long time. “I realize I might not have shown you how much I appreciate you,” he says, taking her hands in his.

She feels sick. She did not think he truly did appreciate her, did not think he actually _loved_ … No. It can’t be.

“It’s how I was raised,” he continues. “I know I have been distant, especially in the past years. They have been very difficult for me and I apologize if I took it out on you. I’ve lost myself ever since the war, but I do know that I don’t want to lose you, Narcissa.” He caresses her cheek, cups it.

Her mouth runs dry. This is completed unexpected. He leans into her. She has rarely said no to him, but it’s now or never. She puts her hand on his chest to stop him. “I really cannot do this anymore,” she says.

He withdraws from her, disbelief on his face. “Is it because of the deal with Smith? If it is, I am profoundly sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not because of that. This would have ended either way. I am so sorry, Lucius.” She turns away from him and heads for the door. She needs to leave. She wasn’t prepared to see him hurting over this.

“Narcissa?”

She stops at the door, the handle pressed down.

“Is there someone else?”

She takes too long to answer. Something shatters against the wall. She leaves.

 …

The sight is pitiful, painful even. Draco is sitting alone at a table in the Leaky Cauldron with a bottle of firewhisky in front of him. He doesn’t notice her as she approaches. Only when she sits down does he look up from his glass. She sees hopelessness and disorientation in his eyes and cannot help, but apologize. He wonders for what.

“For breaking up your family.”

“So you will not return to father?”

“No. I filed for divorce. I just spoke to Lucius.” He only nods. The feeling that nothing matters anymore is only too familiar to her, but it kills her to see it in him. “I am so sorry, my dragon.” Slowly she reaches for his hand, squeezes it. He looks at her surprised. Her son is taken aback that she comforts him. What a cold, distant mother has she been?

“You have nothing to apologize for. I’m mad at father, not you. I read the papers.”

A shiver runs through her. This is what he believes to be the reason for their divorce. Of course it is. Why would he think otherwise? She cannot let him continue to believe that. She has to start being honest with the people in her life, her son most of all. Lucius already knows there is someone else in her life and he will not hesitate to use it against her to pull Draco on his side. It’s better he hears the whole truth from her. “We need to talk, Draco.” She holds his hand tighter.

“It’s fine, mother.” He shakes his head. “I understand why you left.”

“No, you don’t.” She swallows. “What Lucius asked of me was terrible, but I would have left either way and you deserve to know why. You deserve to know me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Not here, Draco. Let’s talk somewhere more private.”

He agrees. They throw a couple of galleons on the table and leave the Cauldron. She has Andy’s place in mind. At least she feels safe there. She takes his hand and Apparates them into the living room. They arrive and he withdraws his hand from hers, a sense of foreboding spreading.

“Is this where you have been living?”

“Yes, it’s Andromeda’s house.”

“I know. I’ve been here once.”

Right, she forgot about that. “Would you like some tea, Draco? I think I should make some tea.” She heads over to the kitchen and gets the kettle and two cups out. They clink from her shaking hands. Is she really doing this? Is she really coming out to her son?

“Mum.” He puts a hand on her forearm. “Forget the tea. Let’s sit down and talk.”

Draco sits down on the couch and she takes the armchair opposite him. “It seems like we need something else for this conversation,” he says. From the inside of his jacket he pulls out a small bottle of firewhisky.

“Are you carrying alcohol around with you, Draco?” she asks exasperated. What has his son been going through and how did she miss it?

“Tough times require tough means.” He takes a sip and then hands the bottle to her.

She decides he’s right and takes a sip as well. Draco looks at her with expectation and she realizes this conversation will not go the way the one with Andromeda did. He won’t help her by asking gentle questions. She is the adult here. “I did not think I would ever have this conversation with you because I never thought I would come forward with this issue anyway,” she starts. “I have been suppressing something my entire life and I, well, I just cannot do it anymore.” He still has this expectant look on his face. It makes her heart race. She thinks of ways to ease him into this, but concludes that there is no way around the straight forward truth. She in hales and looks away from him as she says, “I’m a lesbian.” She holds her breath, waiting for Draco to react, but there’s nothing and she feels frozen in time. When she looks at him she sees a stern expression, his brows furrowed. They cannot hold each other’s gaze and he reaches for the firewhisky.

They are silent for a while until Draco says, “So Andromeda was right.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said you didn’t love father when I came to get her that night.”

Oh Merlin. If her sister was here right now, she would slap her. How can you say something like that to a child?

“I wasn’t aware she said that. Though she did not know, then.”

His fingers twitch around the bottle, the lines in his face deepen. He’s getting angry, she sees.

“And since when have _you_ known?” he asks.

For a moment she considers lying to him. It would be so easy to tell a little story of how she recently met someone who made her see the light, but Draco isn’t stupid. She can see he already knows the answer, wants her to confirm and so she says, “Always.”

He slams the bottle down on the table, gets up and heads for the door without looking back at her. Her chest tightens, fear rises. “Draco,” she breathes. “Draco, wait!” She grabs him by his arm, stops him. “Let us talk about this, please. Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer them.”

“Let me go.” His tone is the coldest she’s ever heard and she lets go of him.

Time seems to stand still as she watches him opening the front door. “Please don’t leave, Draco.” Her throat constricts, she can barely speak. “Draco, please,” she croaks, but he just shuts the door behind him and she breaks down.

 …

 „It’s gonna be okay, baby.“ Andy is stroking her hair like she used to when they were kids. Narcissa is lying in the tub, lines of dried tears visible on her cheeks. The water has long gone cold. That’s how Andromeda found her when she came home.

“Stop fretting over me, Andy. I’m not a child.” She pushes her sister’s hand away.

“It’s ok to accept comfort, you know? And it’s ok to cry, Cissy.”

“I am _not_ crying,” she insists, voice cracking, lips trembling.

“Draco will come around. You just shattered the image he had of his family. Give him some time.”

Andy might be right. She had hoped they would really talk today, talk it all out, but she probably expected too much of him. She is just so afraid to lose her son. And for what? For a woman who keeps her at a distance, who pushes her away the very moment she pours her heart out.

“I’m just so stupid, Andy. I’m so stupid to think she could actually love me. _Me_.”

“Stop putting yourself down, for Christ’s sake. You’re not stupid and I believe Hermione does have feelings for you.”

“She didn’t say anything to my letter, Andy. _Nothing_.” She leans back in the tub, exhausted.

“Still. This doesn’t make sense. What she did on that date, you don’t do that just to be kind to someone you don’t have feelings for. You and her, it’s not the easiest constellation. She might have some reservations of her own. Don’t give up now.”

“Whatever.” She closes her eyes and the topic with it. Her nerves are too fragile tonight to discuss this any further. Andromeda leaves her alone and goes to bed. She dives into the water, holds her breath until her lungs burn, strain, protest at the lack of oxygen. She comes up, panting, gasping for air. Someone’s knocking on the door. She tries to ignore it, but they keep going relentlessly. She doesn’t want to deal with anyone anymore today, but they will wake up Andy, if they keep going like this. She gets out of the tub, throws a bathrobe on. Her wet hair leaves a trail of drops on the floor as she heads downstairs. She opens the door without second thought and …

“Hermione.”

She takes in the woman’s disheveled appearance. Her hair is bushier than usual, face expressionless, eyes unfocused. “Have you been drinking?” she wonders as the woman walks past her inside, keeping her back toward her.

“Just a shot. Whatever. Listen, Narcissa, I want to apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m just …”

“Stop this,” she says. “Stop ignoring me.”

Hermione looks at her and Narcissa can see her crumbling. “Fuck it.” Hermione grabs her by her waist and neck and kisses her, hard. It’s the long, lingering kind of kiss. They grab at each other, stumble until her back hits the kitchen table and Hermione hoists her up. She gasps as her bathrobe comes apart. Hermione takes the chance to slip her tongue in. Narcissa wraps her legs around her, pulling her inhumanly close, the faint throbbing in her core about to eliminate the last ounce of sense in her. “Let’s take this upstairs,” she manages before it’s too late. She doesn’t need to be walked in on by her sister.

She leans against the closed door of her bedroom, watches with anticipation as Hermione takes her shirt off, undoes her pants; they gather in a pool around her feet. The brunette pulls her close by her robe and they fall into the bed. Hermione settles between her legs. Her breath comes in short, she needs her badly, but she doesn’t want this to be about her. It has always been about her. This time she wants to be the one to give. They fight for dominance, kiss, lick, bite, turn until Narcissa pins the witch to the bed. She straddles her, wetness dripping onto the hot skin beneath her. Hesitantly she undoes the front hook of Hermione’s braw. Patiently the woman lets her take in the miracle beneath her. _Beautiful_. “So beautiful,” she whispers. Rosy nipples peak to attention under her touch. She wraps her lips around one while her hand takes care of the other. The witch squirms beneath her, patience running short, Hermione pushes her further down her body. She’s insecure, she’s never done this before. Heart beating in her throat, she starts to use her tongue on her. When she elicits the first sound, she relaxes. Her own pleasure grows in proportion to Hermione’s and she reaches down to touch herself.

“Oh fucking hell, woman.”

Narcissa remembers there’s a mirror behind them. She spreads herself, teases her own opening and slides two fingers inside of herself.

“Good God.” Hermione grabs her hair, grinds her hips against her face. Narcissa smiles at how the witch manages to stay on top even when she’s on bottom. Hermione clutches her head between her thighs as she quivers and Narcissa moans with her when she comes. Who knew giving could be so rewarding? “Was that good?” she can’t help but ask.

Hermione laughs. “More than good. You are quite the natural.”

Thank Salazar. She leans back satisfied with herself.

“What do you think you’re doing, Miss? We’re not done, yet,” Hermione says. “Spread your legs.” Hermione gets on top of her. “Wider,” she demands in between kisses.

She jolts up when their cores connect. They move in union, clutch at each other, scratch. “Oh Merline,” she breathes into her neck. It’s an utterance out of more than physical pleasure. As the pleasure in her body grows, something else does too. Something that makes her eyes water, something that makes her want to melt into the other woman as they come. They turn on their sides, not letting go of each other. They stare in each other’s eyes, Hermione’s playing with her hair.

“You scare the shit out of me,” the witch confesses.

“ _I_ am scaring _you_?” Narcissa is more than surprised. Hermione definitely scares her in a way. She never thought it could go both ways. “What is it? Is it my name? My involvement in the war?”

“It would certainly cause a lot of talk, maybe even trouble if people knew who I was with, but I don’t care much for the public opinion on my life.” Hermione takes her hand and kisses it. Narcissa can see that she struggles to find the right words. It takes a while before Hermione whispers, “What scares me is the way you make feel. I don’t really do relationships.”

Narcissa can’t help but laugh. That is such a pureblood thing to say, because by extension it means _I don’t do love_. “Have you never been in love?” she asks.

“I have, but in the end she chose someone else over me and I wasted years of my life. Ever since it’s only been one-night stands and flings for me.”

Who would have thought the always confident Hermione Granger was afraid of getting her feelings hurt? “If it is any help, there is no one else in my life,” Narcissa says. The witch smiles sincerely at that. “And I am … well, I am not in the prime of my life anymore. I have wasted so many years. I don’t intend to waste even more on a relationship I’m not serious about.” Hermione nods in understanding. She leaves it at that for tonight. She doesn’t want to pressure her too much.

When Hermione gets up a while later, she can’t help the fear that rises. It must show on her face because before the woman walks out the door she says, “I’m just going to the bathroom.” Narcissa relaxes and snuggles herself into the blanket. Just before she is about to drift off into sleep she feels two arms wrap around her.


End file.
